Blood, Sweat and Fierce
by LazyFae
Summary: Everything changed on the wild camping trip the Dursleys went on - forced to take Harry with them. It was supposed to be an opportunity to bond with Vernon's boss. They didn't know they were walking right into the territory of something deadly. None of them would make it back. (Rating subject to change. Kid!Harry)
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the general plot and OCs

 **IMPORTANT AND ONLY WARNING:**

This is probably not going to be an extremely dark story but nor is it light hearted and fluffy. I have little to no clue where this is going to go yet and thus can't say for certain what it'll contain.

I will say this: If it can be perceived for a person to do something/have something happen to them it may well be in this story

 **This may or may not include:** **Pairings of all genders and ages. Non consensual and dubious consensual content. Violence. Abuse. Character deaths. Angst. Plot holes.** **discrimination and prejudice. excessive fluffiness and icky romance. Much more.**

That's not to say it will definitely have all this in it, however I'm not too interested in skipping or brushing over something because it's uncomfortable if it's relevant to the plot. If it's included I will try to do the topic genuine credit and treat it with the seriousness it deserves as long as it's not a parody/comedy or a character being politically incorrect.

 **The plot and characters do not necessarily reflect my own views** and so if you are horribly offended by what's coming out a characters mouth/mind or their actions, that's fine.

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 **Info you might want to know:**

Okay! I don't know if this will end up being a Fenrir/Harry story yet. I'm leaning toward no at the mo, just so that I can avoid any sort very underage sexual tension between them, because that's not what I want to write about for this. I may change my mind later depending on where the story goes.

This doc has been sitting in my files for ages now, and I haven't uploaded it unless I was going to commit to regular updates, but I figured what the hell, I will never get round to updating it unless I upload.

Having said that, expect incredibly sporadic updates. I have a bunch of fics which are in the same state in my files and I will pick up and drop them again as time goes on, or favour one to the exclusion of the others for a while before I take a long break from it.

no beta btw

Finally let me know what works for you, what doesn't, or just what you think in general! As well as anything you'd like to see in the fic going forward.

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 **Chapter 1 - Blood and Bite**

When Petunia and Vernon Dursley had reluctantly and begrudgingly informed little Harry Potter that he would be accompanying them on their week long camping trip in Scotland, he had been gobsmacked. However, he'd barely had five seconds to stand there and gape at this unprecedented opportunity to go somewhere other than the dull streets of Surrey, before his aunt had snapped at him to hurry up and pack.

Apparently Mrs Figg had come down with something bad at the last second, and the Dursleys were reaping the rewards of their own vicious gossip mongering about the child, in that no one was willing to take him last minute. After all, who would trust a lying, criminal thief in their home for a week, even a six year old one.

Harry had known that Uncle Vernon was taking Aunt Petunia and Dursley 'wild camping' in Scotland along with his boss and the man's family. As soon as Vernon had mentioned it to Aunt Petunia he had known that they were only going through with it to get closer to Uncle Vernon's boss in the hopes of a future promotion. There was no way any of them would come with the idea to forgo electricity and their precious creature comforts in order to brave the wildlife of Scotland for a week. It sounded fairly exciting to Harry, who was not unused to the idea of sleeping on a hard ground or having to go without a few "necessities" like hot showers and three course meals.

But he had been resigned to not going. There was no way Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would allow Harry anywhere near any of his uncle's business buddies. However, whilst he had really wanted to see the woodlands of Scotland, he had also been glad that he wouldn't be forced to carry their tent and food, and set the thing up, and cook their meals, and clean up after them when they moved on and be forced to go without a sleeping bag. So when he was told at the last minute that he was going, he was simultaneously thrilled and slightly perturbed by the idea.

To say the journey was a nightmare for Harry was an understatement. It was almost a seven hour drive, during which Dudley decided to take his frustration and boredom out on Harry after two and a half. After getting bored of his gameboy, Dudley huffed and looked out the window, munching a packet of crisps.

"Mummy I'm bored. Can we go to the cinema?" He whined pathetically.

"Not now Diddykins, we're going to Scotland. I'll take you when we get back," Petunia soothed with a sickeningly sweet smile.

"Where's that?" He huffed irritably. Harry rolled his eyes at Dudley, and suppressed the urge to snort. Whilst he may not know _exactly_ where Scotland was, he knew it was North of England somewhere.

"It's not too far sweetheart, although we have a long drive ahead of us. Why don't I give you some cake to help?"

Dudley grumblingly acquiesced and shoved his face with cake, spraying crumbs over Harry who was leaning as far away from the pig of a boy as possible. After that Dudley had begun whinging again.

"Are we nearly there yet? I want to get out."

"Not yet sweetums, we still have four and a half hours to go. Why don't you play with your gameboy?"

"I've completed the game," he snapped, his face going slightly pink, and Harry knew the boy was fully prepared to go into full temper tantrum mode.

"Why don't you play another one," he snidely suggested. He knew that Dudley would either listen to him or start bothering him, but at that point he'd rather be bothered than have to witness a full Dudley meltdown whilst being stuck in the car with him.

True to his predictions, after some sharp words from Petunia about respecting her Diddydums, Dudley turned his vicious boredom onto the skinny boy next to him. It started with whispered insults that made Harry grit his teeth, but say nothing. It moved onto repetitive sharp pinches and pokes that were irritating at first and downright painful after ten minutes. He was sure he was going to have bruises up and down his right arm and leg. From there it moved into solid thumps, at which point Harry snapped at Dudley and got thoroughly reprimanded for his troubles. The rest of the car journey was merely a game to see if Dudley could get Harry to react through any means possible.

By the time it was over Harry had been savagely pinched, poked, punched, pushed, pulled, kicked, stomped on, crushed, insulted, scratched, spat on, snotted on, had food flicked at, his clothes had been slightly torn, his hair pulled, he'd had things thrown at his head, he'd been shouted at thirteen times and to top it all off Dudley had eaten too much and gotten car sick in the last five minutes resulting in Harry getting puked on.

The last one had been the final straw for Harry and he had gotten out of the car in cold puke covered clothes with prickling eyes as Dudley was fussed over.

Vernon maintained his distance and eyed Harry distastefully.

"Boy! There's a river around here somewhere. Go and wash your clothes off and then come back here to grab the gear. I won't have you making a nuisance of yourself and lazing about during this camping trip. Us decent people are here to enjoy ourselves despite you, so I don't want any of your funny business and none of your cheek. One word out of line and we'll leave you here. Understood?!" He barked. Harry nodded and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, before wandering off in the direction he thought the river might be.

It took him half an hour to find it and wash his clothes in the freezing cold water, at which point he realised he hadn't brought any spares with him. He had to be frugal with clothing anyway, what with the huge, threadbare tattered cast offs that were all he had. That and a thin patched coat, plus a few pairs of old but thick socks and Harry knew he'd probably spend a fair bit of time shivering.

He gingerly put his soaking wet trousers back on and returned to the car, his teeth chattering. By the time he got back, Uncle Vernon's boss has arrived with his family and were busy sorting their gear out from the back of the boot.

Harry took one looked at them and heaved a resigned sigh. He knew he would get no help from that family, seeing the few disdainful glances they deigned to give him. It was clear they'd swallowed the Dursley's story of him being a troublemaker hook line and sinker. Uncle Vernon's boss, who the Dursley's were allowed to call David but Harry had to call sir, had a skinny blonde wife with way too much hair and makeup, as well as a son who was a year older than Dudley and although he wasn't as fat as him, carried the same obnoxious spoilt expression that Dudley did.

He was in for one hell of a difficult time with these people.

'"Boy, hurry up with our equipment! And don't cause any mischief," his Aunt snapped when he got close enough. Harry quickly swapped his clothes with dry ones and, teeth still chattering, he began to empty the boot of their bags.

Half an hour later, when Harry was just warming up again, during which his Aunt and Uncle had stood around chatting noisily with the sound of braying laughter reaching Harry now and then, and Dudley got to know the other boy Olli, he had finished loading up the bags onto his back and was already sweating.

He was by no means a weak boy, having spent so much of his life working and running from Dudley, but he certainly wasn't an athlete, and being loaded up with so many heavy bags like a pack mule was straining.

His Aunt and Uncle had only one backpack each whilst Dudley had a snack bag which he ate from as they walked. Both boys whined intermittently, whilst their parents coddled them and Harry struggled behind, lugging the bags. But eventually the boys bonded together by harassing Harry when the adults weren't looking, by throwing sticks and stones at him and trying to make him fall and drop the bags.

As sweaty and out of breath and frustrated he was, he was astounded by the nature all around him. He'd never seen anything like it before and being in the midst of such stunning sights was nothing like the pictures he saw.

His loose shoes quickly gave him blisters and his arms and back ached terribly from his heavy load, but he grit his teeth and persevered. He'd be doing this every few days each time they moved site, and he prayed that he didn't have to do too much in between.

His head swivelled from left to right whenever the scenery changed even slightly and was awed to be able to spot little creatures he'd only heard about. The others stomped ahead, chatting and laughing about boring gossip whilst the boys charged to and fro with no respect for what was around them.

The rivers and loch they passed were beautiful and sunlight dappled through the trees to gently warm his face. Despite his trembling muscles, Harry was content in those moments. There was something that felt so safe about the lack of buildings and people anywhere around. If not for the group walking ahead of him, he would be tempted to never leave. The sounds of birds chattering and little animals snuffling hear and there, the wind rustling through the leaves and the occasional gurgle of a stream relaxed his mind like nothing else had been able to before.

It was like a little taste of freedom.

When they reached the large loch some time later, which took Harry's breath away to see the trees lining the water all around and as far as he could see over the huge rolling hills, they stopped to eat.

Harry set up camp for both families and started a fire. It was his first time doing both things and so was snapped and snarled at and corrected more times than he could count. When he was finally done, he was so exhausted that he could barely lift the plates and stir the food on the pan. He was permitted a small can of soup, which barely filled him after his strenuous work, but he knew better than to complain. The light lowered over the trees and hills slowly, the temperature dropping to lower temperatures than he was used to. He pulled his arms in from his sleeves and held them close to his body, having been kicked away from the fire as the others made obnoxiously loud jokes and roasted marshmallows.

As much as it hurt him each time his family reminded him in their small and large ways that he wasn't wanted, that he was less than them, he liked it here. The air was cold but so fresh and it carried the smells of the wood and the water with them, and the lack of civilisation made Harry feel like he wasn't constantly being watched. It almost made him smile.

As the light finally dropped over the horizon and the Dursleys wished the other family goodnight in the shallow sycophantic way they had of talking to Uncle Vernon's work buddies, Harry huddled in his little corner of the large tent they had, looking out of the entrance, watching the absolutely gorgeous night sky that was so choked with stars he had never even knew were there and the moon, full and bright, illuminating the tree tops and water gently. In that moment, he wished he never had to go home.

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His nose snuffling against the ground as he tracked the scent he had picked up a few hours earlier, the wolf rumbled in anticipation of the kill ahead of him.

Humans, a group of them. Prey.

The two members of his pack he had with him that night were excitedly darting amongst the trees, following the scent eagerly.

They hadn't had a human kill in weeks. Maybe a month or two. There was nothing quite like the fresh taste of warm coppery blood splashing over his muzzle and running over his tongue as his powerful jaws and claws sank into soft flesh, whilst the sound of his prey's fear ripped from their throat. The look in their eyes as they realised they weren't the top of the food chain, that they were going to die as their predator's meal. Delicious. The taste of the chewy meat, skin, sinew, muscle, bone. It made him drool. The blood though, that was what got his heart pumping eagerly. The beautiful deep crimson blood spilling across the ground, flecking his fur, steaming in the cool night. It was the most stunning sight in the world.

The humans wouldn't know what hit them.

He slowed as he approached their camp, his pack members slowing behind him on either side. All asleep, and unaware of the danger that was but a few meters away from them. Their deaths were imminent.

He took the right tent and the other two took the left. Quietly, carefully, stalking around the sides of the tent. Some humans were wary and he didn't want them to fall into any traps. Four humans inside this one, from the heavy sounds of their sleepy breathing. The faint smell of ash and smoke lingered in the air amidst the fresh scents in the wind.

At an almost inaudible signal from himself, the three wolves cautiously pushed the flaps aside and entered. There would be no escape for his prey tonight.

Two young boys lay asleep by each other, and he gave a wicked wolf grin at his luck. He'd save the children for last. Walking around them as silently as possible, he pushed another flap aside, and saw the two sleeping adults. One seemed lean and bony, but the other was rich and the meat fatty. Excellent. At the sound of two low growls coming from the other tent, he leapt forward, teeth bared, and struck.

The delightful sound of screams permeated the air, yells coming from the two children, hot blood spattering the tent walls and down his throat as his jaws clamped down and tore out throats and bellies. Loud barks and growls coming from both tents as the flimsy walls shook from the chaos inside. It was all over in a matter of minutes. They'd have their fill tonight, and then in morning they would carry their kills back to the den for the others and raid any food or useful equipment the campsite had.

Just as he finished picking the meat from the bone of the limb he was devouring, his belly now sufficiently full, he thought he heard something. His head snapped up and a warning growl exited his throat for the other two.

After a full minute of silence, he heard the sound again. It was an odd shuffling, too large to be any animal he could think of. Not a deer certainly, too loud. He silently padded outside, meeting his two pack members at the same time, and sniffed the air. His pack did the same. Another human.

They slunk around the side of the tents and crouched low in the deep shadows as they waited for this unfortunate human to appear. The little shuffling footsteps and rustling of bushes got closer and louder, as he got ready to pounce. His pack members mirroring his movements.

Just as the surprisingly small body came into his line of sight into the clearing, he leaped and knocked it over. A cry of surprise came from his prey's mouth as the other two flanked him on either side to ensure no escape. With his paws pressing into it's small shoulders, pinning them to the dirt he snarled low. Another child, he realised with relish. His lucky day.

Just as he opened his jaws to clamp down on the child's throat, a high whine exited the little one's mouth. The sound made them all pause. It was not the whine itself that confused him, but the pitch. It was the exact pitch one would expect a naughty pup to make when he realised he was in trouble.

He growled again, wary and disliking his own confusion. The high pitched whine came once more. Taking a careful look, he saw that the child beneath him was a little boy, his large eyes averted respectfully, his throat bared in a submissive manner. Another whine came from his small mouth. His pack members whined back in confusion, hoping action from him would clear up whether this was a wolf cub or prey.

He sniffed the little one's throat and armpits carefully. Human, but now he was closer, there was an odd undertone of wolf. And something else too. Magic, he realised. It almost made him want to attack regardless of this mystery, but the magic wasn't the same warm slightly electric smell as usual, it had an added tone to it. Wilderness, darkness, nature, predator, blood, violence, creature. He didn't know. None of those were quite it, but they were as close as he could come to explaining the extra scent in his magic. He didn't like having to think through things. He was a doer not a thinker.

The wolves whined uncertainly and growled. He snapped at them to shut them up. The high pitched whine came once again from the little human wolf below him. He'd bite the boy, and if he survived the night after the bite, he'd come back and close the wound once he was human with the small amount of dittany and powdered silver the pack kept around to close werewolf wounds on non werewolf beings.

He yanked the boys t shirt from his shoulder harshly with his teeth, slightly ripping the clothing, and the boy whined again, which he finally replied to with a rumbling growl that would both reassure him and tell him to shut up. He found a spot on the boy's shoulder where his claws had already punctured, and bit down.

The boy screamed and yelped, jerking to try to get away from the jaws holding him, but he had already let go. Pinning the boy down again with his paws, as the little one whimpered and yelped lightly in fear and pain, he licked the wound to clean it slightly, as well as ensure enough saliva transferred to it. The more he worked it with his mouth, the more likely the boy would survive.

Finally he stood back from the boy and barked sharply at his pack, before melting into the shadows of the wood to continue his run tonight.

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 _What do you think? What do you think happened with Harry to make him smell unique? How do you he'll react to Fenrir, werewolves,_ _the knowledge that the Dursleys are dead and he's stuck with the killers?_


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the general plot and OCs

I couldn't find a place to split it, so almost all of what was originally going to be chap three is included too

no beta

Thank you so much for awesome reviews, as well as favs and follows! Let me know what works, what doesn't work so well for you as well as any prompts for scenes you'd like like to see going forward.

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 **Chapter 2 - Alpha and Pup**

Fenrir Greyback awoke amongst warm bodies, with the usual satisfied ache of a good hunt and run the night before. The day after the full moon, most of his pack would be peaceful and lethargic, bathing and massaging each other to get rid of the residual pains of the transformation.

Of course, as the alpha Fenrir had other things to do. If he did bathe it was with one other, most likely one of them who he fancied fucking at the same time. Leloo was a particular favourite of his for the moment. She was unattached and always happy to oblige the alpha.

He was rarely peaceful and lethargic though. He preferred action. So he spent the day after the full moon working off his ache by dragging back the left over kills from the night before and preparing them.

He stood up and stretched, clicking his back with a satisfied grunt, before walking through the still asleep bodies of his pack, kicking two of the men on the way to wake them up. They shot up with a groan and squinted sleepily at him.

"Get up," he commanded, his voice particularly rough after the night before, "we have our kills to collect."

They yawned, grumbling under their breath and put on a pair of shorts or patchy trousers. It wasn't that they particularly cared about nudity, but if they came across another person while they were out it was easier to explain a lack of top in the summer than a lack of anything. They all made do with shorts and frayed trousers most of the time. Footwear and heavy cloaks were for the winter in the particularly cold days.

"What about the kid Alpha?" His right hand, Seff, asked in between yawns. Fenrir paused as the memory of the kid the night before hit him. Damn, he'd forgotten.

"You and Varg grab the deer and goat we got. I'll take Blaez, Alf and Rudy to grab the humans. Sandalius can come with us to heal the kid if he's still alive," He grunted in reply, leaving Varg and Seff to wake the others and explain the situation. Blaez, Alf, Rudy and Sandalius could catch up easily when they were ready, since he wasn't making an effort to hide his trail.

Fenrir stalked through the trees for fifteen minutes before the other men caught up. Sandalius was a stoic presence by his side as usual, whereas Blaez, Alf and Rudy were more sociable.

"I heard you got some human meat for us Alpha," Alf smiled at the thought. Fenrir grunted at the statement.

"What's this about a kid?" Rudy asked hesitantly. Fenrir hadn't bitten a kid in years, and when he had they didn't survive. That or they weren't pack material. They'd had a shortage of new members for some time, with Leloo and Coinin joining them five years ago. Until they could safely travel in magical areas that other humans lived in as well, it would be difficult to maintain more numbers than they had anyway.

They had the largest pack in the UK as it was with twenty seven members, including Fenrir. Technically Fenrir was Alpha of all the wild packs of the UK, which in total were about twelve, numbering from eight members to twenty five, to help make up the two hundred and fifty or so werewolves that made up the wild packs, and most of which he'd turned himself.

But until they had a more sustainable way of living that still allowed them to retain their wild nature and not pretend to be domesticated dogs, Fenrir generally didn't let any packs go over thirty members. The dens didn't fit more than that comfortably, so when winter came and they spent more of their time in them, it was imperative that they had the right numbers or fights would break out.

"I bit a kid. He needs seeing to," was his short reply, "if he's still alive."

The walk to the loch was longer than it had been the night before when he'd been in wolf form, taking three hours to get there, despite all of the men's fast pace. As werewolves they could travel longer distances faster due to their naturally tall, large builds and strong legs.

They walked mostly in a comfortable silence, until Blaez sighed and rubbed the back of his neck wearily.

"Accalia's pregnant again," he admitted quietly. There was a tense silence amongst the group for a moment.

"When?" Fenrir demanded tersely.

"I don't think it was during the full moon," Blaez smiled bitterly, and the other men grimaced. If the pups had been conceived during the full moon, when Accalia, and whoever the father was, were in wolf form, the pups would live and so would she. They'd be permanently wolves, with human intelligence, and so she'd have to make the journey with the father to the Forbidden Forest, which was slightly risky, in order for them to grow up safely and be allowed to live without being hunted and killed, but they'd all still live. If they were conceived during any other time, she'd miscarry anytime after the third month of pregnancy the day after a full moon.

That was how they lost most of their women. It was why Fenrir generally tried not to bite fertile females if he could help it, since they had notoriously short lifespans afterward. Their instinct to mate became three times as strong, but the ability to birth became next to non existent and downright dangerous. However, since Fenrir was the only one with any control during the full moon, hence his status as alpha, it was up to him to make sure the others didn't bite any women either, and that was impossible to do for all thirteen packs at the same time.

They had one of the largest numbers of women in their packs, and they still only had five. Ula was older than Fenrir and had passed the age she could birth pups anyway, and Leloo was infertile, but the other three were always at risk. Even if Fenrir encouraged the use of magic, which he didn't unless necessary, the wizarding world wasn't big on contraceptive charms or potions at all. They generally held the belief that the more the merrier, since their numbers were constantly taking a blow from the numerous dark lords they allowed to rise.

"I'll keep an eye on her," Sandalius promised. It was the best they could do for her, and just hope a third miscarriage didn't kill her. Losing pups for a werewolf was, for some reason, a much more bloody situation, and more likely to lead to death.

The four men came upon the clearing quite suddenly, the smell of congealing blood in the air, as flies buzzed about the tents. Alf wrinkled his nose.

"Better get them out of here before the flies can lay their eggs and the wild cats find the place," he suggested. Fenrir grunted in agreement and dragged Sandalius off to the spot the kid was still lying, unconscious, with the wound trickling blood as he knew it would be.

Sandalius bent down over the kid and checked his pulse, "still alive," he stated, before retrieving a vial from his pocket and pouring the dittany and powdered silver into the bites and scratches. The wound closed gradually over a minute, leaving behind the telltale scars that they all had.

"Go through their stuff and find anything worth keeping," he told Sandalius, and then bent to pick up the little one.

"He smells... funny Alpha," Sandalius frowned confused. Fenrir bent down and sniffed the boy's neck like he did the night before. It was more difficult to pick the scent up than it was when he was a wolf, but it was also more obvious now that he had no human scent left.

Wolf, definitely. Magic with an odd undertone that was clearer now but no less elusive. Wilderness. Darkness. Nature. Predator. Blood. Violence. Creature.

But the wolf was odd in itself. A werewolf smelt of a balance between wolf and human during the day and nights that were without a full moon. But this boy had no human at all to his scent. Purely wolf.

"It's why I bit him," he rumbled thoughtfully. It smelt good. Last night the human in the scent had been confusing and not right- after all he smelt like an off-moon werewolf during the moon, but at the same time that human part was one of the only things that made sense with the boy's human appearance. Now, with the lack of that element entirely, the boy smelt good. Powerful, comforting, right.

Fenrir wasn't sure he liked that something was comforting to him, but he put it aside.

"What do you smell?" He asked curiously. Was it only him the boy's scent had an affect on?

Sandalius hesitated and licked his lips as he thought, "he smells like a wolf with no human. He smells like wild magic. Something feral, dark, animal and uncontrollable. But... good at the same time. His scent makes me want to keep him close," he eyed the boy warily, before flicking his gaze to Fenrir in question.

"His scent hasn't changed much from last night before I bit him," was all Fenrir replied. But it told the other man all he needed to know.

"When you've got all you need, get rid of the rest. Hide anything that shows anyone was here," Fenrir informed Sandalius, before he left, carrying the small boy to his chest as he walked, denying the fact that he was enjoying the child's gentle smell that curled about the air as the weather warmed up.

Harry awoke to a gentle rocking motion. He was warm and snug, and the sound of someone breathing rhythmically and the beating of a strong heart against his ear made him smile. The smell of the wood in the breeze and the feel of air floating across his face reminded him of the freedom of his environment, before a stronger scent pervaded his nostrils. It was heat, sweat, human, animal, strong, power and dominance. And something else that crackled like energy. But most of all to Harry it told him of safety and belonging.

He didn't question these odd thoughts rolling around his head, nor why suddenly he could smell everything with so much more clarity and definition. Or why it was as though he could hear sounds much louder than they had been before. His brain seemed to have taken a shift to left and it was as though instincts which had always been there but he had never needed to acknowledge or use were activated and predominant in his mind.

He yawned and buried his face closer to the warm smell of safety, humming in satisfaction. Two arms that he belatedly realised had been holding him squeezed.

"Oi. Wake up," a deep gravelly voice rumbled from above, whilst the vibrations travelled through the chest next to him.

Harry cracked an eye open curiously and eyed the being that made him feel so oddly safe. A man, a huge, muscled, feral looking man, with long silver hair tied back, and a small amount of facial hair, animalistic amber eyes, and a heck load of scars. Home.

Without really knowing why he was doing what he was doing, Harry stretched his neck and bared it to the man. He huffed in slightly mocking laughter in reply.

"You're more wolf than human, boy," his gravelly voice vibrated through Harry's head again. Harry looked back at the man curiously, not entirely sure what that meant. He briefly thought about asking where the man was taking him, but then decided that as long as it wasn't back to the Dursleys, it didn't really matter. There was something about the Dursleys hovering on the edge of his mind and clanging like a bell, but he couldn't concentrate for long enough to think.

It felt like he had run a marathon and then got hit by a bus last night and he was exhausted. He pondered over asking the man who he was, however he paused moments before he did.

Despite every instinct telling him that wherever this man went, he should go too, that he was safety and home and protection, the same instincts were also warning him that the giant of a man holding him was much more dangerous than anyone he'd ever met and he'd do well not to anger him. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Dursley didn't like it when Harry had asked questions and had often punished him for it. He didn't want to find out what this man would do if Harry asked a question at the wrong time. So instead, he decided to wait for them to be answered through patience and observation.

Fenrir held the child to him and eyed him in fascination. All pups he'd seen when bitten were pathetic, especially when young. They whimpered and cried and begged for parents who would have banished them as monsters. They shied away from most of the pack for months and only truly accepted pack mentality after almost a year. They were pitiful during their first transformation and Fenrir generally ignored them until they got older and less annoying so he wasn't tempted to smack them about the head like he did fairly casually with the rest of his pack.

This boy showed no signs of distress at all, he seemed content to be held in silence and not asked the irritating sobbing questions Fenrir would have expected and pleaded to be released. He was absurdly calm. On top of that he did not seem to be afraid of Fenrir one little bit, in fact he was pressing himself as close to the alpha as possible, with a contentedly lazy smile on his face as his eyes flickered curiously over the passing surroundings.

The startling eyes which had surprisingly not completely turned an amber or yellow shade, but had a bright amber ring around the pupil which melded from yellow, to light green and then dark green on the edge, met his own wild eyes. It reminded Fenrir of a sunrise in the wood, before he shook those kind of stupid thoughts from his mind. Apparently the pup had misinterpreted his disgruntled expression, as he frowned slightly mournfully.

"I'm sorry if I'm a burden. I don't mind walking sir, I'm sure I could keep up if I tried," another surprise, his voice wasn't the bloody aggravating squeaky high pitched 'cute' that grated on the ears and travelled way too far. Instead it was quiet and smooth, as though practiced for being discrete and soothing.

Fenrir eyed the child again, who looked back at him openly, but avoided eye contact. He was an odd creature. The only kid in a long long time who had not pissed him off immediately and made him want to kill something after a while.

"What's your name, pup," his gravelly voice, for some unknown reason, seemed to please the boy. Or maybe it was calling him pup.

"Harry, sir," came the soft reply. He was respectful, that was good. He couldn't stand stuck up spoilt brats.

"Shit name. We'll give you another one pup. Everyone gets given another one after they're bitten. Doesn't matter if you were rich or poor, good or bad, loved or hated. We all start fresh in the wild packs got it? I don't want any complaints cos things used to be less work, or easier, or you could do whatever the fuck you wanted," Fenrir warned with a slight sneer.

Instead of looking put out, the pup looked thrilled. He gazed at Fenrir with something akin to awe. That definitely wasn't a look he was used to getting. Fear certainly. Not awe.

"Thank you, sir," the pup replied, biting his lip as he smiled. Fenrir huffed at the over emotional display.

"Whatever. What were you doing alone at night like that anyway?" If the kid had connected Fenrir to the wolf he didn't give any indication. In fact he didn't give any indication of having remembered the incident at all.

"Olli snuck into our tent to play games with my cousin, Dudley, and they said they didn't want me there while they played because nobody ever wants me, so I got kicked out of the tent and I decided to go for a walk to keep warm," he replied casually, as if it was no big deal at all.

There was a pause, as the pup frowned thoughtfully for a moment. Fenrir watched him curiously, he was strangely riveting to watch, with his constantly surprising emotions that never seemed to range into the usual ones that people wore when around him - fear, wariness, disgust, hate. Respect was the only expression he saw that was vaguely similar to anyone else most of the time.

But that was usually only from his pack members, and certainly not new ones. Alarm seemed to flash through the boy's eyes briefly, before they settled on thoughtful again. There was a long pause, and then the boy's quiet voice spoke up again.

"They're all dead. I smelt the blood last night. I came back because I heard screaming. But everything was so silent." There was no fear, or sadness, grief or anger. No sudden realisation that he was all alone with his family's murderer. Fenrir wondered if perhaps the kid thought he had saved him from the wolves. But when he looked into the pup's eyes there was just confusion, curiosity, acceptance.

"You got a question you ask it," he snapped. His own confusion at the boy sharpening his tone. He'd never come across a youngster like it, who just accepted such a traumatising event so quickly.

"I don't want to bother you with annoying questions, sir," he hedged, hesitant for the first time. Fenrir snarled, his confusion at the surrealism of this pup being respectful and polite not out of fear for him being a murderer but for some other unimaginable reason.

"Just ask. If you say something to piss me off you'll know soon enough."

The pup nodded uncertainly, "why did you kill them?" The innocently confused question almost stopped Fenrir dead in his tracks.

If it had been asked accusingly, or with the other amusing emotions that people tended to ask that question in, he would have mocked the boy with their deaths. But there was none, so he answered honestly.

"They were food. Prey. Lower down on the food chain. Just like more intelligent cows, sheep, deer, goat, fish. 'Cept we can communicate with them better. They'll point at us and call us monsters because according to them what we do is murder a few of them now and then. But if that's the case then they murder their food all the damn time. They say we're diseased humans," here he snorted, "but we're not. We're not even human at all. We're more than that. We're Werewolf. Our instincts tell us that they're food and that when their blood runs and their meat is pulled off the bone, that's good.

"We're wild, not some house bred pet that can get a job and have neighbours and socialise. We're not monsters, or evil, when it's in our nature to kill, to be ruthless and vicious. Just like a wolf isn't evil for taking down a sheep. We're predators," he looked down at the pup, expecting horror or revulsion at the idea of eating human, of killing and liking it, of the whole concept as he had always encountered at first. Again, he almost faltered at what he saw.

The pup's pupils were blown wide and his breath was slightly ragged. He could suddenly smell the elusive but fantastic scent added to the magic flood the air, along with the wolf.

He recognised the expression on the pup's face though. It was bloodlust and hunger. His face looked almost lupine and Fenrir thought for a moment if perhaps the boy had never been human at all and was now something more than werewolf.

"If I'm good, do you think perhaps-" the boy's tongue darted out to wet his lips, "perhaps I could get a taste? Just a small one. I promise I won't take much. Just a taste."

Fenrir was taken aback by the level of emotion prevalent in the pup's voice. If he had been someone with a more cautious nature, Fenrir would have been more keen to figure just what was so different about this pup before he let him loose. But Fenrir Greyback was not known for his cautious nature. Sure, he could plot and plan and wait patiently for revenge, but he preferred to act first and think of the consequences later.

And so as it was, Fenrir just gave a toothy, bloodthirsty grin and replied, "sure pup. But if you want it to be bloody you gotta help take it down with the pack. Else you get stuck with the meat only."

The wicked little devil replied with his own bloodlust filled smile, which was both intriguing and slightly disturbing to see on such a young face. There was a lull in the conversation, during which the pup turned his head to face Fenrir's bare chest more and began to calm himself down by taking deep slow breaths in and out through his nose.

"You really don't care about their deaths do you pup?" He asked with a small amount of disbelief and wonder in his voice. He didn't know why he was pressing the issue, when usually he'd just shrug his shoulders and figure he didn't really give a shit either way.

The pup pursed his lips in thought for a few seconds, "no. I guess not. Maybe I would be if I saw it happen. Maybe not. I think I'd be more upset if I hadn't been chosen. But I've changed now. It's difficult to look at it as my family being killed and not more like they've been... Picked off. Like natural selection. I think. My teacher talked a little bit about it in school once."

Fenrir quirked an eyebrow at the pup's odd explanation. There were a bunch of things he wanted to pick apart with that statement. It wasn't often he came across someone who he actually found interesting who was not a threat or prey.

"Chosen?" He repeated with a raised brow. The pup nodded absent-mindedly as he continued to breath deeply into Fenrir's chest.

"Yeah. When you chose to bite me. I thought you were going to kill me for a moment. But then I saw you change your mind instead," at seeing Fenrir's face he added with a small blush, "I saw it when I looked into your eyes. And the sounds you were making told me a bit too."

Fenrir nodded once and decided to ask about that later. Besides, it probably was linked to his next question.

"How have you changed since you were... Chosen then?" He was truly interested in the answer to this one. Mostly the drastic changes in mentality and instincts in Werewolves happened over the space of nine months. Almost immediately came the most basics that one would need to survive in a pack; a sense of hierarchy, a certain level of dependence on the pack's existence, a lack of ability to continue living in houses and indoors like a cooped up animal and increased meat appetite. Not to mention all of the instincts that kicked in during the full moon.

It was only after an extended period of time that true instinctual understanding of pack dynamic and interaction happened. Around puberty Werewolves who hadn't been bitten when older then developed an increasingly predatory attitude. Varying levels of bloodlust and a decreasing level of empathy or even sympathy for non wolf human beings. Revelry in violence and fighting, from mock fights to deadly ones. A deep contentment with the wilderness, feeling free and at home there amongst the pack and a respect and obedience to the alpha.

It was why Fenrir tended to turn younger ones, so they had time to adapt to these sudden onslaught of foreign instincts like any other teenager would with hormones. Adults had a notoriously more difficult time to adapt, and the sudden complete change over the period of months tended to backfire and turn them into unworthy wolves for the wild packs. Not always of course, sometimes it was the other way around and a child could immediately be seen as unworthy, or an adult surprisingly adaptable such as Fenrir himself was when bitten.

The pup was clearly struggling to get the words sorted out in his head as Fenrir pondered over this strange little one.

"It feels like I'm not human any more. Like I never really was and this side of me was just waiting but not switched on, waiting to kick in. I don't even know why I'm doing or thinking half the stuff I do. It just feels right and so I don't think and I follow it. When you had me pinned to the ground I was terrified for a moment, and then... It's like my bran slid to the left and even though I was still frightened everything was different. Then you bit me... And now it's like everything is clearer and better and how it was always supposed to be. I can smell more, hear more, see more clearly and everything means something slightly different to me than it used to. Humans are... Other animals I might talk to, but can also be food, fun, something for me to let loose and wild on. The wood, and night sky and lochs and moors and mountains are freedom. They're my heart now. And you're-"

The pup realised he'd been talking a fair amount and cut himself off quickly, blushing red and turning his face away, into Fenrir's chest again, subtly inhaling.

Fenrir was almost speechless. The pup sounded like he already had all the instincts of a fully matured werewolf who'd been bitten ages ago, not the night before. If he wasn't clearly still so weak from the change forced by the bite, Fenrir might have believed he had actually been bitten before and just had a strange defect where he didn't turn at the moon. As it was Fenrir frankly had no idea what was going to happen over the next nine months to the pup's instincts, let alone when he was thirteen to fifteen, during a Werewolf's shortened maturity.

Hopefully this wasn't the sign of a new alpha on the rise who might contend with Fenrir's leadership when he was older. It didn't matter how goddam interesting the pup was, Fenrir would kill him if he threatened his position.

He carefully watched the pup for a moment, before he suddenly realised the pup had been scenting him, it seemed in order to draw comfort like he could from the pup's smell. But that couldn't be right. If his smell gave off anything it tended to be aggression, danger, power, bloodlust and strength to incite fear and obedience. It was part of the reason he had been surprised such a weak and vulnerable pup, newly turned and out of his element in the arms of an unknown being hadn't panicked at such a scent immediately.

"What do I smell like to you pup?" He felt no shame or awkwardness in asking the question. The pup was clearly working off of his new instincts largely and he was unlikely to be old enough for the pathetic humans to have taught him too much about their ridiculously delicate sensibilities. Especially if the pup showed no qualms about being held to a strangers bare chest in what could be construed as in an uncomfortably intimate way.

The boy fidgeted slightly until Fenrir tightened his arms in warning, he sighed and admitted in a quiet, nervous voice, "you smell like an animal and a human. I can smell something that's... Energy? I don't know really. But both the energy and the animal smell to me of power and strength and someone in charge... and danger. But all of these, somehow, tell me about the safety and protection I can find with you. Acceptance. It makes me feel like I've found a home as long as you're in control."

There was a long pause, during which Fenrir was, for once, genuinely speechless. He had definitely expected the first part. But he most certainly had not expected the last part. Of course, he knew his scent which often gave the message of aggression, dominance, danger and high testosterone resulted in different reactions as their brains told them different things.

It made some flee, it raised others' hackles, it made some hate him and attack, others it made them submissive and obedient, or respectful and slightly wary. It made a few extremely lustful. But never had the often overwhelming aura that his scent helped give him make someone feel _safe_ and at home.

"I'm sorry sir," came the upset almost whisper, which derailed all of his stunned thoughts. He looked down at the pup and saw he was looking regretful, ashamed and extremely apologetic.

Fenrir didn't bother to mollycoddle and he wasn't one for providing verbal or even physical comfort. He decided to ignore the apology instead.

"Comforting?" He asked with nonchalant gruffness, "my scent."

"Sort of. I wouldn't find it comforting if you were angry at me. I think it'd be scary. But I guess feeling protected somewhere I can belong is comforting. So yeah, I guess."

Fenrir grunted in reply, not pleased but not displeased. It was interesting that the pup's scent was clearly comforting to Werewolves and his was to the pup as well. He'd have to see if it was just his scent or if other wolves were the same to the pup. If seemed to him, that the pup's smell inspired an unusual amount of affection, protectiveness, kindness and respect (although not the same kind as for Fenrir) from all Weres, whereas his scent encouraged the pup to seek the offered protection and affection and give respect to his alpha.

It clearly meant something but Fenrir was damned if he knew what.

He continue walking in a comfortable silence, with the pup falling in and out of sleep against him. He liked the quiet that not many of his pack members were capable of. Besides Sandalius, Ula, Raoul who'd had his tongue cut out some time ago, and Alf on occasion, none of his pack seemed capable of just shutting up for more than an hour at a time. He didn't tend to mind it much but he liked spending most of his time not participating in meaningless conversation and just being instead.

Seff was the only one who didn't mind conversing with on a regular basis. There was something about him that was smart, straight forward and easy to be around without wanting to slap him round the head.

He was almost back with the pack when the pup opened his mouth again. He seemed to have to screw up his courage first, and had a face filled with determination.

"What's your name, sir?" He asked with a touch of timidity. Fenrir would have get rid of that timidness as soon as possible. There was little space for that in the pack.

"Fenrir Greyback," he grunted, watching the pup out the corner of his eye for any signs that he recognised the notorious name. But there was none, just a firm satisfied nod, "you can call me Alpha or Fenrir. None of that sir or Mr. Greyback shit you hear?"

The pup nodded again, before pausing and hesitating for a long while, "I.. I didn't know Werewolves really existed..." he stated. It was apparent that he had no idea how to phrase what he wanted to say.

Perhaps he was a mudblood before all this. Although that would make his unusual scent all the more mysterious if he was.

"You know bout magic pup?" He asked, grimacing at the idea of having to explain the cesspit of corruption and prejudice and elitist racism that was the backwards wizarding world. The pup's eyes widened dramatically.

"Aunt and Uncle always said it doesn't exist. I'm not allowed to say the word either," he admitted in his nervous voice.

Fenrir may have been known for beings vicious brute, but he wasn't the Alpha of hundreds of Weres for nothing. He was smart too. It sounded less like a phobia of the idea of magic and more like an awareness and hatred of its existence. Maybe they caught some accidental magic with the pup was younger, or maybe they already knew of the wizarding world and despised it.

Either way it didn't really matter anymore because they were dead and the pup wasn't a wizard anymore. If he had ever been.

"There's more than werewolves out there, pup. There's a whole world of magic. Most's filled with creatures and beings like us. We're beings, see. But there are wizards and witches too. They're closed minded, stuck in their ways, they think they're better than us and call us all monsters cos they don't wanna admit that they're our prey even with all their fancy magic schools. They hate us and any other magical being that shows any intelligence on par with humans cos most of the time we're stronger and faster than them, and they don't want to admit it makes us better or even admit it makes us equal to them, though we can do magic too.

"But they're more in numbers and they're in control of the laws that govern them- and us in their opinions but that's bullshit. They'd kill most of us on sight and we can barely walk among them with our true identities cos they'd run away in fear or attack us in anger. They kill each other and hurt each other for any differences that they can find. If you're from a background that doesn't have magic, you're unworthy. If you have a parent that has a background of non magic, you're barely worthy. If you don't agree with that point of view you're a traitor. If you do then you're an evil dark wizard.

"The Wizards are rife with corruption and lies. They hide more and more knowledge from the next generations' learning, out of fear that when those generations grow up they might change what's going on in the society. So they keep them ignorant and misinformed. Sure, sometimes you might meet one and they'd seem polite and kind and good. But the moment they'd find out that you're really a werewolf they'd hate you. And if they're one in a million who didn't, they'd never help you over themselves if you were in a sticky situation. They make no effort to learn about what we're really like, try to understand us as anything but diseased humans, or change the laws.

"That's why you won't be going to magic school when you're older. You're not a wizard anymore, you're a wolf and you'll be learning our ways. I won't have you being dumb and ignorant, so you'll be learning more about the magical world from us, and when you get a little older we'll be teaching you magic too. It's no good not to have it if you get targeted by a witch or wizard when you're in human form. But we don't rely on it for everything like those damn wizards. We make do without most of the time. Magic is for protection and fighting mostly you hear? Not every damn little thing."

It was the most that the pup had heard Fenrir speak and one of the few things that Fenrir really felt passionate about. He nodded, slightly dumbstruck by the angered speech, before he whispered half to himself.

"They sound a bit like Aunt and Uncle. But a whole world of them," he shuddered at the idea, before on again burying his face into Fenrir's chest and taking deep breaths.

Nothing was said after that. Nothing needed to be, and Fenrir walked in a comfortable silence again for the next twenty minutes as he arrived at the pack.

* * *

 _So Fenrir and Harry meet. The mystery of his unique scent continues, alongside his unusually sped up change of instincts._

 _What sort of werewolf do you think Harry will grow to become? Should he go to Hogwarts when he's older somehow? How do you think things would go if he did, with Fenrir's indoctrination toward hatred of wizards and witches growing up?_


End file.
